


Obsessed With Coping

by honeyedflesh



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, maladaptive daydreaming, will add more tags when they come along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedflesh/pseuds/honeyedflesh
Summary: An AU where Pennywise is a figment of Bill's imagination created to cope with Georgie's death. He obsesses over this story, pours all his energy into creating the perfect and most terrifying being that must have destroyed his little brother's life, unable to live his own until he proves to himself he can destroy IT too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've not posted on here in so long so i'm still not exactly confident in this shite, so sorry if i end up dropping this at some point i am Physically the Worst at keeping to stories. This chapter is mostly just the build up to the Real Meat of this odd lil story

The sweat clung to Bill as he watched the clown appear under the sewer, eyes wide and animalistic, speaking to Georgie. His little brother, the only member of his family who he gave a shit about, the one he had subconsciously sworn to protect all the way up until he died of old age, shriveled and worn out from a good life. He surged forwards, but nothing moved around him, he was stuck in place. Rooted, fixed, to the tarmac on the rainy ground. The water pooled and lapped around his ankles, the blackness oozing and becoming more gelatinous as he tried to push forward, desperation in his voice as he looked up and down and back up again, trying to keep his eyes on Georgie and also try and make some progress getting out of the tarmac, breathing heavy and strained, his voice catching in his throat.

His body shook when he heard the voice, deadly close to his ear, come from the clown around 20 feet in front of him. Clear as day, it was talking to Him. It was showing him what it could do, psychologically manipulating his younger brother, His Georgie, into trusting it.

Pennywise the Dancing Clown. It spoke, close to his ear, a whisper and an agitated breath playing with his darkest thoughts and fears. He saw Georgie step forward, leaning down, reaching out. He tried to turn away, his stomach flinching and jolting from fear, but something had him completely frozen. He watched, agony flooding and tearing his heart into shreds as his brother, his little brother, his Georgie, flew backwards. Cries, sobs, wracked his little body and Bill tried to yell out.

His stutter stopped him. And then Georgie reached out, one arm amputated at the shoulder, blood spilling out into the blackness of the rainy tarmac and mixing with the gelatinous mass that had reached up to Bill's knees.

"Bill! BILL!" Georgie was screaming, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the bloody, rainy tarmac. Bill was trying to speak, trying to move, his face twisted up into that of desperation, anger and complete and utter guilt. He watched, in horror, as the clown. Pennywise. Reached out and took a hold of Georgie's ankle, sweeping him down under into the sewers.

* * *

 

  
“PENNYWISE!” Bill screamed, finally, as if he had been holding it in for years and years. He shot up in bed, sweat clinging to his sheets and his hands were wrapped tight in the blue fabric, his knuckles turning white. He heaved a breath, a long one, his voice seeming to catch in his throat halfway through the exhale and he hung his head, his shoulders pulling up to his ears as he sobbed uncontrollably. Spit, snot and tears falling onto his sheets and he leaned back, his head bashing against his wooden headboard, letting out a wooden thunk.

Bill whimpered, his hands coming up to the back of his head, pressing down on where he had hit it. He curled up into a ball, stuttering and whimpering as he tried to make out what the absolute fuck had just happened. It was just a dream, he told himself. A figment of his imagination to try and cope with the revolting loss of his little brother. But he wasn’t completely convinced. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, his eyes wide and terrified, staring at his doorway expecting Georgie to walk through with one arm and scream at him that he didnt help. Why did he not help? He didn’t deserve to be Georgie’s protector. He had fucked up his one job. To protect Georgie.

He had let Georgie go missing.

* * *

 

  
On his bike ride to school the next day, he stared intensely at every single storm drain he passed, crossing the road in a zig zag pattern to inspect both sides of the road. He didn’t know what he was expecting, probably Georgie to raise a small hand and call Bill over, promising that he was okay. Or he was expecting It to appear and then he would...he would…He didn’t know what he would do. He could kill It, he knew he had enough anger in his heart to do that, but he didn’t know what Pennywise the Dancing Clown was, It could be anything from an old frail man to a omni-present demon with rows of razor sharp teeth and the ability to manipulate and contort Its body in a number of horrific and gruesome ways.

Yes, Bill thought, That was It. That had to be what had killed Georgie, a completely inhumane being with the powers of God- or Satan- behind It.

Bill swerved away from a passing car, hitting and scuffing the front wheel of silver against the dusty summer tarmac, a stark contrast with the pitch black gooey tarmac he had experienced in his nightmare last night. He was about 20 feet away from a storm drain too, maybe this...yes, this was where It had taken Georgie.

He thought about It's appearance the last five minutes of his ride up to the school gates. It had yellow eyes, piercing and dangerous like in his dream, thinking about them sent a shiver down Bill's spine and he looked around for a second to see if anyone had saw him, paranoia and anxiety causing him to quickly look back in front of him and delve back into his horror filled coping mechanism he was slowly starting to expand and explore.

By the time he had made it into the school grounds, chained up his bike by the back where the smell of weed and sweat had permanently stained itself into the cream brick walls and made his way into the school, he had a fully fledged image of what It, Pennywise, looked like in his head. It was terrifying, and Bill had to inhale slowly, shakily, whenever he thought of It. This was the thing that had killed his little brother, and he was going to find It no matter what.

When the others appeared next to him, a jump of surprise shooting him out of his trance like clown fugue state and making him yelp, he turned to them and simply offered a pained smile and a weak 'hello, gu-guys'. He saw Eddie's eyebrows raise out of the corner of his eye, he would have to explain that he wasn't ill to him later when he inevitably asked, smothering his hands in hand sanitiser after asking for one of his pencils or something.

"Heyo, Billy," Richie began, Bill could only think about how Georgie used to call him Billy. He was Georgie's best friend, "How're you holding up?" Badly. Terribly. Awfully. There were a lot of words to describe Bill's emotions right now but none of them were quite as hard hitting as what he actually said.

With a smile, he turned to Richie, Stan and Eddie and simply stated,

"I-I'm ffine." That was it. He even forced the smile on his face to look vaguely genuine, hoping that at least one of them would either realise he didn't want to talk about anything or actually believed his poor acting skills. Richie nodded, turning back to face the corridor in front of them. The other two stared at each other, Bill could see them, talking about Bill through their eyes alone like a psychic connection between two dorky prepubescent boys.

"Are you...sure you're okay, Bill?" Stan asked, hands going to rest in his khaki pockets. Eddie mirrored the action, awkwardly sliding his hands into pockets he didn't actually have and then tried to pass it off like he was wiping his hands on his shorts. Bill let out a soft laugh, turning to Stan and forcing a smile again, knocking his friend in the shoulder with his own shoulder and turned towards his locker, quickly trying to turn the lock but failing when he realised how shaky his hands were. He leaned forward, pressing his head down on the cold red metal, not completely smooth but not completely rough and jagged. Just uncomfortable, like the rest of him.

He heard Stan talking next to his left ear, but nothing was entering his brain. All he could think of was It's eyes, staring, boring, into his very being. His fucking core, for gods sake. A hand was on his back, pushing pressure onto his left shoulder blade, and he could feel every single groove and indent in the hand as it seared a mark into his skin, a numbing sore burn that made him whimper. He hadn't even realised he was walking away until he felt more hands on his hands, his back, touching his neck and then a soft tap from a long thin hand on his cheek.

Then a harder slap, the sound echoing in his ears. He shook his head, awake, his eyes focusing in on Stan stood in front of him, holding onto his shoulders. They were in the men's staff bathroom in the maths department. Eddie and Richie were stood outside, he could hear their voices. They grounded him just like the soft hands on his shoulders did, and Bill leaned forwards until he had his forehead pressed just under Stan's protruding collarbone, his hands sliding themselves around Bill's shoulders slowly and pulling him tighter into a hug. Bill hadn't realised he was grabbing desperately at Stan's blue shirt until Stan whispered into Bill's ear, "The bell's going to go soon, Bill, do you want me to take you to the office to go home?" And Bill had just shook his head, pulling himself closer, impossibly closer to Stan's torso. They stayed like that until Eddie opened the door and told them that the bell was going to go in a minute, and they needed to get up to the second floor and into their first class before the hoard of older, scarier kids started barging past in a wild stampede of hormones. Bill nodded, so did Stan, and they let go of each other and made their way up to English.

Bill noticed how the other three boys kept a much closer eye on him all throughout the day, and it wasn't that he was ungrateful to have good friends, he just couldn't focus on the two things at once- he had to explore It- so he told them at lunch to stop worrying, that he hadn't meant to get so freaked out and emotional. Stan looked blankly through him, whereas Richie and Eddie just nodded slowly, Richie slipping his hands into his pockets to fidget and Eddie almost copied him again, instead going to fidget with his hands behind his back. Bill smiled, gulping down other emotions and other ideas until he could go home and sob relentlessly into his pillows.

So he thought of It. The clown with the orange hair and striking face paint, a face human but inhumane, the ever present threat of sharp teeth and gums behind a salivating mouth and a deranged smile. The clown that had taken his baby brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to all the people who read and gave me a kudos! :0 it means a lot esp when i read that first chapter back and realise how gross n blunt it is woops, i'll try to keep that kind of blunt, stunted writing to a minimum now cause it just doesnt read well

Bill continued life like that, his friends constant worry growing more and more. He was cycling home one early evening after a movie at Richie’s when he began to understand the power within Pennywise; the ancient, demonic, incomprehensible being that It was.

Pennywise was influenced by the fear held within humans, mostly children, which is why It went after Georgie. If his dream from a week ago was anything to go by, he assumed that Pennywise was probably living in the sewers or somewhere near there- an unnerving feeling lurched his stomach and heart- as it was unnatural and wholly inhuman, frightening Its victims into a stunned silence, a stutter in Its step and motions as It tried to seem human, but missed the mark a few and sunk Itself deeper into the uncanny valley.

Bill reached his house, the evening sun resting itself on the roof, simmering in the cloudless light blue sky, a soft breeze rustling Bill’s neat hair and pulling at his slightly ill fitting clothing. He pushed his bike into his dad's shed, mumbling the words he so often did when he was alone ‘he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts’ but it usually came out like,

“He thrusts his fists against the p-p-p-pp,” Before stopping, almost physically, before restarting. He used to try and continue the word ‘posts’ but by then the stutter had already taken over the full word until he couldn’t get it out; shaking his head and exclaiming ‘ssshit!’ only helped so many times.

“Can you stop talking when I’m working, Bill.” His father’s stern, deep voice echoed throughout the shed and Bill jumped, being so caught up in his own mind that he hadn’t noticed his dad’s presence in the small shed, the atmosphere thick and palpable once he had fully re-emerged into reality. Bill was confused about his parent’s, if he was going to be completely honest. After the loss of Georgie (not loss, he reminded himself, just missing; taken, by It.) his parent’s had become cold and hostile towards Bill, as if it was his fault that Georgie had gone missing.

 _But weren’t you the one to send him away with his little paper boat?_ The voice at the back of Bill’s head was so sudden that he furrowed his brows, opening and closing his mouth as he looked at the back of his father’s head, the man hunched over in his stool, not even bothering to offer a hello or a greeting of any kind after his initial statement.

“S-Sorry, Dad…” Bill replied, turning and exiting the shed quickly, speed walking away from it, focusing on the trees opposite his house, how the peaks radiated with the bright yellow sunlight, a strict line separating the yellow and dark green. He entered his house, the sudden dreaded feeling he was now constantly experiencing returned when he saw his house had seemingly not been touched by the marigold evening sky and early summer peace. But rather was thick and dull, grey walls and grey furniture, a somber and strained silence resonating off every wall and surface.

Bill dragged his fingertips off the top of the counter in the kitchen, softly making the index and middle finger on his left hand dance along the marble, a distraction to the sadness he felt stab him in the back in a callous pain. His mother walked in, he could hear her feet against the panel flooring. It was painfully quiet. She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand and he turned to face her, his fingers slowly lowering to be just a palm flat on the counter, all the life drained from the once dancing fingers gracefully adding a spark of colour into the room.

“Did you have dinner at that Richie boy’s house?”

“No, mo-mom” He replied, her mother’s usual appearance kept neat and tidy, like an unwrapped comic book with a deteriorating cover, falling to pieces. She nodded, turning back to the cupboards and opening one situated next to the cooker, her fingers wrapping around the side tightly. Something dreadful was on her mind by the way her nails dug ever so slightly into the dark brown wood, the grooves separating to take in her anger. Bill thought she looked terrifying like this, unable to see her head as it was hidden by the cupboard, she could have been anything.

Bill felt the numbness in his hands and he began to sink into his daydream, but a sharp squeak from the cupboard broke him out of it.

“There’s pasta in there.” His mother stated bluntly, as if she was talking to herself. Bill nodded, looking down at the floor and pushing his hair out of his face with a thumb, looking back up again once he knew she was gone. His hands were fidgeting by his sides, his body ridged and uncomfortable. She didn’t even want to make him pasta, of course not. She didn’t want to just have to make three bowls, didn’t want to forget that Georgie was gone for a second and accidentally make four bowls. So she didn’t make any, retiring to her piano room to take out her frustrations.

Bill rationalised his anger by trying to put himself in her shoes, but she was in his exact place, he felt the same guilt and anguish and terror as she did; he just did something else to occupy him. Everyone has their coping mechanism when in a time of grief. His dad felt anger, the adrenaline rush of being passive-aggressive or just aggressive kept him distant from the main house, locked up in his shed for hours and hours and hours, busying himself with a distraction. His mum felt sadness, her complete apathy towards Bill’s well being was worrying him, not like he needed her- well, of course he needed her- he was independent. Bill was just a natural leader, born to make sure his loved ones were kept safe.

This wasn’t safe, though, how his parent’s were reacting. He wasn’t safe, his coping mechanism was to create a killer sewer clown of eldritch horror that fed off fear and human meat.

 _Human meat? So Georgie was eaten._ Bill nearly fell to the floor at the voice in his head, going weak in the knees and desperately clinging to the counter top with both hands behind him, breathing in shaky inhales and exhales that were becoming more laboured and shallow.

Human meat, Human meat.  Bill was struck several more times in the stomach by the jolts of fear that were now becoming regular occurrences, now pulling his feet up to be scraping his heels down the back of the counter's base, breathing heavy, sickening breaths until his thoughts calmed down enough to let him remove the painful strain in his muscles, relaxing him only slightly; enough to sprint upstairs and throw himself onto his bed, falling asleep before he could even process what had happened. He didn’t even think he could process it, the fear that had kept him pressed up against the counter was pure terror, straight from the cut. He didn’t want to feel that anymore, it made his hands go warm and clammy and his whole body to break out in a cold sweat, flashes of hot breaking through. 

* * *

 In his dreams, he was with Richie, Eddie and Stan. Each of them had an object stood behind them, and Bill immediately knew what they were; their own fear. Stan had that lady from the painting in his dad's office standing behind him, lurching down every so often to place its head next to Stan's shoulder, and Bill saw how Stan tensed up and his eyes widened, pleading Bill- their leader- to help . Eddie was stood in front of what could only be described as a walking infection, a person (maybe?) covered in head to toe in every germ Eddie could name and categorise and list off the various diseases they could cause. Bill could hear Eddie's pained wheezes weakly resonating from where he was stood, and Bill reached out but when he did the images of his friends and their fears jutted back. He couldn't get close to them again. 

Richie was stood in front of Pennywise, who was holding a red balloon and staring venomously at Bill, and a silence so thick and painful set over the white blank dreamscape. The balloon popped, and the room turned red, a deep blood red. The bang from the balloon was now ringing in Bill's ears, and he fell involuntarily to the ground alongside Richie, Eddie and Stan who fell to their fears. Bill then noticed a yellow figure deep into the dreamscape, running along the blood red infinite horizon. Georgie, the word caught in Bill's throat.

* * *

 When he went downstairs the next morning after a quick wash and a well needed change, he didn't even bother with breakfast. His parents didn't ask, they were too busy mourning the loss of their son to worry about their eldest sons own mourning. He made his way quickly into the shed, pulled silver out and got on. Bill had to get away from that god awful house for as many hours as he could.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for everyone who's reading this story! it's actually really fun for me to think of all the ways i could splice in the idea of pennywise whilst also having there be no actual real threat of that gross bitch to any of the loser's club. this chapter's in eddie's pov bcause i just love writing for eddie. This was also written at 1am on a school night running on only 3 hours of sleep and the fact i bought the book today (it set me back 11 quid and possibly a year trying to read this massive fuck off book but i had a lovely chat with the cashier abt the movie and fun fact: her fav was ben, use that info however you please its yours now)

Eddie was sat outside on the stairs leading up to his front door, the early Saturday morning streaming in between the trees and houses across from him. Down the road he had spotted the first sight of cars being thrown into reverse, the muted rumble of an engine shuffling off through the empty streets. It was around 7:00am, and Eddie was expecting someone. Mrs Kasprak was still asleep, he had made sure of that, sneaking through the house with soft footsteps, making sure to keep the rattling of his pill timetable to a minimum. 

He was shaking now, in the summer morning, a gust had settled itself above the town and was currently wracking Eddie’s small frame, who certainly wasn’t dressed for a windy morning. His legs were bouncing now, the two of them working in tandem to set his body into a nervous motion; his mother could be awake by now. He pressed reverse on his walkman, the song skitting backwards in his ears, before he pressed play again and listened to the soft music. His mother had bought him the walkman for his 13th birthday, but he had been told to make sure that the volume didn’t go above barely hearable- he could lose his hearing, he could end up with tinnitus, he could end up dead by not being able to hear what was going on around him- which he obediently followed.

Apparently, the volume wasn't low enough, because he felt strong hands grip his shoulders and he thrashed away from the unknown presence, his whole body attacking the person behind him. His mother had been right all along. He yanked the headphones from his head and shrieked, tangled in the wires and through it all his wheezing became stronger.

“Woah, woah, shit...Eds, dude,” It was Richie, hands coming to rest, softer now, on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie just smacked them away and hurried to tear the headphone wire from his throat and chin, wheezing and spluttering as he shakily unzipped the fanny pack on his waist and took out his inhaler, inhaling deeply, he could hear Richie’s laughter in the back of his mind, “Eds, oh my god I’m so sor-”

“That wasn’t fucking funny, Richie!” Eddie yelled, rezipping the fanny pack and reaching down to the tarmac to grab his headphones and walkman, which had fallen during his struggle. Richie made a zipping motion with his lips to signal that he knew it wasn’t funny, but he was struggling not to let out a giggle and instead just chortled through his nose, his lips pulled into a tight line. Eddie surged forwards and hit Richie on the shoulder, to which the boy recoiled in mock horror and possibly genuine pain, “and don’t call me that.”

“OW! Christ, Eds if you’re gonna hit me at least ask first!” Richie rubbed the spot where he had been hit, completely ignoring Eddie’s last statement. He thought himself slightly awful to be laughing at Eddie’s horrified reaction, but it was more the tangling of the wires than the fact that kid had nearly taken an asthma attack. He didn’t want to laugh at that.

“Fuck off, Trashmouth,” Eddie spat back, a slight smile curling onto his lips, he pulled the walkman and headphones to his chest and sat down next to Richie, who had stolen his previous spot. Richie threw his arm over his face and leaned back, his other hand reaching out blindly and clutching at raw air.

“Ah the irony, Eddie Spaghetti, with such words you spit in my direction must make you also the Trashmouth!” He cried in his posh, British Voice. Eddie hit at him again, lightly smacking his chest and arm. Richie laughed, shooting up again to be next to Eddie.

“Beep, beep, Richie...how did you even get behind me?” Richie turned dramatically and then back to Eddie, as if the answer was obvious.

“You were so caught up in your music you didn’t even hear me climb up the porch side, hah! I really didn’t mean to freak you up so much, Eds. Whatcha listenin’ to?” Before Eddie could move to stop Richie, he grabbed the headphones and pulled them over his ears.

 

_ You spin me right round, baby _ __  
_ Right round like a record, baby _ _  
_ __ Right round round round

 

Richie burst into laughter, taking the headphones off and pushing his face into his palm to muffle his loud guffaws. 

“What? Dead or Alive are really good!” Eddie retorted defensively, furiously taking the headphones off of Richie’s lap and pulling them closer to his chest. Richie put a hand out to Eddie and flapped it, still struggling to compose himself. Eddie slapped his hand out of the way and held it by the wrist. Richie inhaled deeply, looking over at Eddie like he had just seen another side of him.

“Huhah...sorry, Eddie Spaghetti, I just didn’t peg you for a Dead or Alive kinda guy.”

“Well what music did you think i listened to?” Eddie pressed, letting go of Richie’s wrist.

“Well, I don’t know, a song that just repeated ‘germs are bad, bad, bad, bad’ over and over again for 3 minutes?” Richie looked as if he was about to break down into a fit of giggles again, “You’re gonna have to give me a borrow of your inhaler, dude, I’m dying over here”

Eddie looked at him disgustedly, his nose wrinkling up and he let out a chuckle. Richie looked up at him from where he was hunched over and hit his side with his shoulder, standing up and gliding down the stairs like he had not a care in the world. That was one thing about Richie that Eddie appreciated; he balanced out his neuroticism. When Eddie was jumpy and jerky and prone to nervous rambles about god knows what, Richie was confident and brash and prone to sharp comebacks and snarky rambles. The two were inseparable, despite all their bickering and attacks on each others lifestyle and appearance, they would just never admit it.

Eddie stood up as well, his walkman slipping into his fanny pack and his headphones pressed around his neck, the remaining cord also going into the small bag on his waist. He went to grab his bike, quickly checking the time as he did so. 7:35am. God, his mom was probably awake. He pulled the bike around to the front door and speeded up the stairs, motioning for Richie not to worry, and slowly peeled the door open, like defusing a bomb.

His mother was inside, he could see her busying herself in the kitchen. His sharp, small frame sped towards the stairs and he turned around once he was close to the middle of them, before returning down them and making sure to step on the creaky parts. He was overcompensating, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He didn’t want his mom to know he had been awake for almost all night, unable to sleep. He thought he was dying, if he was going to tell the truth, his asthma kicking in around 3am when he literally couldn’t go to sleep, the blankets hot and sticky against his skin, his pyjamas disheveled. 

He had stepped out of the house at around 6am, the birds and winds calming his nerves.

His mother hadn’t noticed anything weird, and he stepped towards her cautiously.

“Hello, ma,” His mother spun around and beamed, quickly pulling him into a tight hug like every morning, and he had hugged back just as tightly. She stepped back, her hands on her son’s shoulders. He hoped he didn’t look too pale from being unable to sleep, he didn’t want to be put on another form of pills, “Uh, Richie’s outside. We were going to go to the Arcade with Bill and Stan,” Wrong. They were going to the Barrens to look for Georgie, Bill’s idea. To be honest, Eddie was so conflicted on the Georgie thing. He knew, deep in his gut, that Georgie was gone, but he knew he was going to have to pretend that Georgie may be alive, if even just for Bill’s sanity.

“A little early for that whole nonsense, don’t you think, Eddie-bear?” Eddie swallowed, trying to keep his composure. He had been lying to his mother a lot lately, but he was growing and things were happening and he wanted so badly to be with his friends and she was so protective that it was hard to do anything, so lying was his only way to get out of the house.

“We were going to go to the comic book store first, they’re opening early today for a beginning of summer deal type thing…” He felt his heart race, his face flush in a shade he hoped his mother couldn’t read through.

"Hm...okay, dearie. Take your vitamins first, you look paler than usual. Oh gosh, do you have the flu? Oh goodness gracious,” She put a hand against Eddie’s forehead and his heart jumped, god why God did he have to be so bad at lying, “You’re burning up, Eddie! Oh no you can’t go out like this.” Eddie screwed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists at the side of his body.

“I’m fine, mommy, i forgot to open my window last night and it got really hot.” His mother looked at him, stepping back an inch to inspect her son again in the morning light streaming through the dull window into the kitchen. She pressed a hand flat against his scalp and sorted his parting, before turning away with a tutt and reaching for his vitamins.

“Silly boy, you’ll overheat doing that. Hold out your hand,” He did so, and was given a circular pill and a red and white capsule, “Other hand” She handed him a glass of water. Eddie took the pills quickly, stepping away from his mother as he threw his head back.

He handed her the water cup and went to speed off, already excited to get away and bike off with Richie to the Barrens. He could almost feel the impatience swelling in his best friend’s heart, and he realised he felt the same hunger to explore the wilderness and hang out with his friends. His mother’s voice stopped him once more in the doorway,

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Eddie?” He didn’t like that tone in her voice. He turned back around, slowly, almost as if it wasn’t going to be Sonia Kasprak he would be facing. But it was, and he rushed closer, reaching up to press a kiss against his mother’s cheek and step back, “your breakfast as well, sweetie.” She handed him a granola bar and he nodded, putting it into his fanny pack and rushing off through the house again, yelling a quick,

“Bye, mommy!” Before shutting the door and speeding off on his bike with Richie Tozier on his tail, yelling insults and comebacks like boys are meant to do, completely forgetting about the tense atmosphere at home, the pills and the overbearing protectiveness and the granola bar in his fanny pack, rattling around with his walkman and his inhaler.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another one o these chapters, bcause i cant stick to anything hhm really sorry this is coming so late and i sound awfully incoherent in this note, theree may or may not be some form of alcohol in my system at this moment aaaaand if anything grammar or spelling or anything sounds AWful in this chapter then call me out bcause i need it. thanks dudes, for reading this and the chapter

The Barrens were dank and wet, the moss slipping up onto the banks was slick with the not so fresh water streaming into the shallow river. The large sewer openings towered over the four boys, the rotten stench of decomposing litter and human fluids wafting through the deep, ominous tunnels. Richie poked the stick he had found into the water, throwing a piece of torn fabric away from the murky brown liquid.

Anything could be down there, Eddie thought, clutching the granola bar wrapper, the bar inside only half finished but Eddie felt sick and didnt think he could stomach the rest. After a moment he put the bar back into his fanny pack and looked around at the others, who were just as nervous looking as Eddie; apart from Bill, who had a look of determination and a hint of anger seething behind kind eyes. Eddie gulped.

"Bill? What are we doing here?" Stan asked, putting his hands into his pockets to cover his nervous fidgeting. Bill just stared into the sewer's opening, stepping forward through soft, trickling water and let the darkness linger against his skin, threatening to swallow him whole but not quite ready to eat. It was playing with It's food.

"Looking for Juh-Georgie." Bill replied, turning to face the other three. He looked melancholic, a sad, prying frown working its way into his dimples and easing them to flat skin. His face strained into that of concern after a beat when Eddie started gagging, coughing off away from the other three. Richie flung him head around and stepped forward, raising a hand to Eddie's back and resting it between his shoulder blades, a reassuring tap and a simple 'it's okay, Eds'.

"Why...Why would Georgie be in the sewers, Big Bill?" Eddie spluttered, fiddling with the inhaler in his hands, the familiar simple plastic instantly bringing a sense of calm to his senses and lungs. Bill raised his eyebrows slightly, the edge in Eddie's voice sent a shiver down his spine. It was hungry, Eddie, why cant you understand that? Bill could feel It's presence, the teeth and gums and sparkly eyes ready to devour him from behind in these dark sewers.

"H-He just might buh-be here, Eddie," Bill paused, his arms lifting from his sides ever so slightly in his casual yet composed manner, "B-Besides, I-I've looked everywhere else..." Richie stepped into the sewers along with him, the darkness stooping low in the shadows of his face, and he suddenly looked different; wide eyed, desperately trying to keep it together. Bill nodded, his lips twitching as they stretched into a tight lipped smile. He looked out into the brightness of the outside, where Stan and Eddie were stood out of the water, and waited for them to enter or leave.

He knew that, eventually, they would do the former and step into the bowels of Derry. He was their leader, and anywhere he went they would go too, knowing that despite everything, Bill would take care of them; like a leader should do. Eddie was fidgeting with his inhaler, running his fingertips over the top of the blue plastic and onto the trigger on the top, where he tentatively brought it up to his mouth and pushed down, inhaling the medicine quite literally like air. Stan was bouncing from foot to foot, adrenaline rushing into his system that he didn't know what to do with, his own anxieties trying to send him flying backwards in a screaming, scared retreat.

"Hey, you guys not coming in?" Richie yelled, the echo shooting off within the tunnel, and he stood triumphantly with his hands on his hips, almost up to his ankles in gallons of Derry pee, as Eddie would put it.

"Nuh-uh. That's greywater!" Eddie retorted, quick and snappy. Bill turned away from Richie, only slightly able to hear his reply,

"What the hell is greywater?"

"It's basically, piss and shit and stuff...," Stan curled his nose up, looking down at the water close to his feet, Bill just stared at Eddie before turning away, "So I'm just telling you!" Bill was further into the tunnels than the rest of them, and he looked down into the water, searching for something, anything. He spotted a tip of something sprouting out from the water, a white tip with a black rubber border. A shoe. His eyes widened and his jaw clenched, and he dipped his hand without thinking into the pool, the water droplets trickling off the plimsole and ringing in his ears and down the tunnel.

The entire conversation from that moment forth was just a heavily muffled whisper behind the thick layer of white noise as Bill stared down at the white shoe, peeling back the side to reveal the words 'Betty Ripsom', illuminated by his flashlight. Bill inhaled sharply, It had taken her too, was his only conclusion. They were both trapped down here in this endless passage of twists and turns and dead ends, the only thing stopping them from escaping was It with It's claws and teeth and yellow, horrible eyes.

"Guys!" He yelled, startling the others from their conversation, and he stared over at them, and the light beyond the sewers, the torch in his hand hollowing his eyes and pushing his cheekbones out, a macabre display of human features.

"Shit...don't tell me thats..." Stan was speaking. Bill shook his head as he pushed back to reality, and turned to the other three, the shoe still in his hands,

"N-no, Georgie wore galoshes...it's Betty Ripsom's..." He mumbled, stepping towards the others, careful not to slip on the moss underfoot. Richie went to put his hand on Bill's upper arm, but Bill caught his composure and held out the shoe. Richie took it and read the inside, 'Betty Ripsom', "I-I tho-thought ssshe went missing a-ages ago?" Richie nodded out of the corner of Bill's eye, as he was mostly staring at Stan and Eddie, who's anxieties were tearing apart their insides and ripping them to shreds.

"She did. Does that mean that she's down here too?" Stan replied, and Bill shrugged slowly. He thought about it for a second, and came to the painful conclusion that Betty was dead; Georgie might be too. Eaten...by It. The thought sent another violent shiver down his spine, and he zoned back into the conversation.

"How do you think Betty Ripsom feels, wanderin' around these tunnels with only one frickin' shoe?" There was a chuckle to Richie's voice as he jumped up onto one foot, smiling at Eddie and Stan before shooting Bill a glance. Bill just looked at him. The smile fell from Richie's face. He could only vaguely hear Stan say '...what if she is still down here, though, really?' because Bill had already began to walk deeper into the sewer.

"Eddie!" Richie called, and Eddie's words sprinted from his mouth in a desperate attempt to prove that he couldn't- wouldn't- go into the sewers. He only turned when he heard his name being spoken, softer, in a question. No, more like a 'please, please tell me what I want to hear, Bill'

"If...If I were Betty Ripsom, Id want us to find me. Juh-G-Georgie too."

"What if I don't want to find them?," Eddie spat, not in a wholly malicious way, but as if he had kept that sentence locked in the back of his head and could only now get the words out in the right order. Bill's heart sank, his eyes going wide and his jaw went slack. He couldn't truly process what was being said, "I mean, no offense, Bill but I don't want to end up like Georgie. I don't wanna go missing either."

Bill went to say something, his heart skipping every other beat, going faster and faster. He hated this, this feeling of drowning when his head was pounding and his eyes might be filling up with water.

"He has a poi-" Stan went to begin, and Bill was about to cry, the look on his face slightly concealed by the shadow's, but something was splashing heavy through the water, startling everyone.

A boy was throwing himself through the water, pale and flushed at the same time, his clothes soaked with the lukewarm river water and Bill and Richie ran out of the sewer's, Eddie and Stan also stepping towards the boy. He was leaning on a rock on his hands and knees, too tired to get back up, the water's soft but powerful current and slippery rocks were not the best for running.

"Shit what happened to you?" Richie yelled. He turned, his chubby face pulled up in a look of terror and exhaustion, and Eddie shook his head viciously and sprinted forward alongside Stan.

"H-Hello...aare you okay?" Bill asked, watching as Eddie was close enough to the boy now to hook his arms under an elbow and help him up, steadying him in the water. The boy was panting, his short hair falling over his forehead, drenching in water and sweat. His face was curled up in pain, blood streaming down his face and out one nostril, and that's when Eddie and Stan noticed more blood covering his shirt and seeping out into the water below them, "F-fuh-fuck..." Bill muttered, also noticing as the blood pooled under the boy's feet.

"We have to help him." Eddie said, staring at the water soaked t-shirt now stuck to the boy's skin, the cut underneath taking up a large surface area. Bill nodded, all thoughts of the sewers and the intense, hollow feeling that was now creeping up the back of his neck and stayed there. He linked his arm around the boy's other arm and hauled him out the water, Stan and Richie stepping back to make space on the grassy banking. The boy coughed and spluttered, his eyes calming down but still moving from place to place, waiting for someone to come out of the bushes and attack.

"You're the new kid, right? Ben or something?" Richie asked, and the boy- Ben- nodded, shakily, wincing whenever he tried to move. Bill bent down onto his haunches and held out a hand. Ben took it after a second and shook.

"Hi, B-B-Buh-Ben...uh, I'm Bill. T-That's Richie, Eddie and Stan." Bill pointed to them as he did so, and Ben looked up at them and smiled at each of them, his hands holding onto his cut up stomach, "W-What happened," Bill paused, before shaking his head quickly and spluttering, "I-If that's n-no-not a-a-an i-intense thing to ask, I mean." Ben inhaled shakily, still searching their surroundings, the summer forest staring back at him, silent and serene; to everyone except Ben, who seemed insulted and scared by the sparkles that skipped across the shallow water, the sun above burning a pleasant heat to everyone else in Derry.

"Henry Bowers..."

"That's all you really have to say, heh." Richie cut in, chuckling to himself. They all had experienced some form of Henry Bower's relentless abuse. His punches, torments, kicks and mocking comments. They had heard and felt it all. Ben looked up at Richie and nodded slowly, stopping himself short to look around again. Eddie stepped forward, his eyes wide and his body twitching and fidgeting more than usual, and peered down at Ben as if looking at him properly would give him the same cuts and bruises.

"W-we need to get him medical attention." He said, brashly, confidently. Eddie could slip into sounding almost like a professional doctor when the time called for it, despite not knowing much about the medical field except for the fact that his innards ran off of pills and medicine. He could name diseases, types of germs, where they were found on the body, types of pills and what they did. But he didn't know first aid, he had never really needed to. But he liked to think he knew about it, just to solidify his place in their little group of loser's.

The others hummed, Bill the first to reach forward from his kneeling position and help Ben up. He practically dragged Ben away from the banking and up to the forest path, where they had ditched their bikes, the others following suit. They clambered on and set off for the town, Ben clutching to the fabric of Bill's shirt, cursing and flinching silently after every bump that unsettled the cuts on his stomach.

For Ben Hanscom, the first time he had met his very best- and only- friends had been filled with anxious tension and seething fear, but under that was an immediate, overwhelming sense of love that resonated from them all. The same love that would lead him into sleepless, terrifying nights thinking about how much of a coincidence their meeting had been, and the years of friendship that would come from it.


End file.
